A Crisp Decree

An idle brass call bell resting upon a silver card tray is practically begging for a sovereign to assemble her retinue. To pass such an immaculate mechanism without holding court would be unforgivable neglect, wouldn't you say? I scaled the carved edge of the console and surveyed the gleaming dome. Planting both heeled boots onto the central plunger, I leaned my full weight into the spring. The lever snapped downward with a crisp, piercing chime that shattered the morning hush, vibrating through the metal straight into the soles of my boots. Not a single attendant arrived, of course, but the decree was impeccably executed nonetheless.